


on the nature of night

by killaidanturner



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, F/M, Fix-It, Magic, Multi, Other, Romance, Strong Female Characters, Valar Morghulis, White Walkers, all the women in this show are amazing and I am fixing this travesty, and destroyed everyones character, and then make the male out to be the victim, excuse me, i am letting every ship live in this au so buckle up, they really turned jon snow into a fake bitch, this is lowkey a disney au where magic is going to break the spell, watch my insanity unfold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 20:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18924169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killaidanturner/pseuds/killaidanturner
Summary: The Seven Kingdoms fall to the Night King, and the world plunges in to an endless winter. One by one their eyes turn blue and their skin cold but the longer they live in this world, the more magic comes alive.story starts during episode 8x03 and diverges from there





	on the nature of night

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be the ending we all deserved because fuck the toxic male agenda, I am here to right wrongs

 

It suited her, how the colors of the North blended in with colors of fire. Winter was starting to grow on her, slowly, like tendrils of smoke. Where as before she heard tales of how dull the North was, how muted and gloomy, it was now blindingly beautiful. Yes the sky was overcast and the grounds covered in ice and dirt but Daenerys was starting to see it more as painfully bright, that on days where the sun broke from behind the clouds on the fresh fallen snow, the purest white, was one of the most fascinating things she had ever seen. It stirred something inside of her chest, she enjoyed how the cold burned her lungs, that it was a different type of burn than inhaling smoke. Smoke cascaded through her body, filled her lungs and felt as smooth going down as a glass of wine. But the cold? The cold burned her from the inside and she was starting to think that she enjoyed it. 

 

The first time she experienced it was that day that Jon Snow rode next to her, the way that Rhaegal embraced him. There was too much weight already behind what she had experienced that day, it’s the frozen waterfall she remembers the most. The way that Jon’s hands were roaming her skin, different in a way from previous men. Jon’s hands were steady, always steady. Not to say that he wasn’t passionate, because he was, it was different with Jon because of how sure he seemed about everything, how every placement of his hand, of his lips on her skin, tracing curves, felt inexplicably right. How could this not be what she was supposed to be doing? Every fiber of her was shouting a chorus of  _ this is why you are here, this is why you have left the throne behind. _

 

_ Not that, not right now. _ Daenerys pushes the thought to the back, back, back of her mind and focuses on the way her back arches when Jon buries himself deep inside of her. This is what feels true, and right, and veracious, all of the things that have been holding Dany together. With recent events it has been making her question her own judgement as well as others. This is how she remembers why she is here, with Jon Snow’s hands deliberate and sure. 

 

This is how the North is beautiful. So when the cold air burns her lungs, she realizes she likes it. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

It doesn’t make sense to her when Jon won't look at her. His dark eyes more haunted than before. Something has changed, she can see it in the way he carries himself, with his shoulders tight and pulled back, not structured or relaxed like before. Any moment that she thinks that they might have, where she can talk to him about everything that is happening, he's avoiding her. She can tell and they both know Daenerys is not one to ignore confrontation and this is why she finds that every time she goes to speak she catches nothing but a glimpse of his cloak billowing in the wind.

 

She is not used to men running from her but instead clamoring to be next to her. Daario Naharis killed other members of the Second Sons in order to be next to her, so when Jon starts to avoid her and his eyes won't even meet her own she is afraid that it is something truly terrible that is being kept from her. She goes to follow him but feels herself being pulled in many different directions as her advisers vie for her attention and to speak to her of plans and strategies she lets Jon Snow walk away as her duties of Queen come first.

 

* * *

Of men that are noble and just Daenerys feels that she has had the greatest fortune in the world in picking them as well as the worst luck. Jorah Mormont stands in front of her, his face weathered and tired, but she views every line in his face, every crease to be from determination. So when he decides to speak to her, she finds that she must listen because all he has ever done has proven himself to her time and time again. 

 

He wants her to forgive Tyrion, to see him for his intellect and to forgive him for his actions the way that she has pardoned him. He asks more of her, he asks her to talk to Sansa, to ask her to be one of her advisers and to be the Warden of the North. 

 

With this suggestion comes the underlying idea, that Jon would be sitting by her side in Queen’s Landing, she hasn’t talked about her new name for the capital yet. She doesn’t think she reacts to the suggestion, she thinks that she has kept her face like stone, or perhaps even ice, but there was a slight inhale, deeper than the rest that causes her shoulders to rise and though it is small, Jorah knows the weight of what he’s said. That Dany will rule with Jon and that she will have everyone she needs. A calculating hand, a devoted captain of the guard, and a true ally in the North. 

 

The idea of it is better than any she could hope. With the North by her side she can truly unite the Seven Kingdoms and bring peace to the lands. 

 

She has not told anyone about the other reason why she is here, and that is what Jorah is asking of Daenerys, to show that vulnerability to the one other woman in Winterfell that would see her more as the honorable ruler she envisions. 

 

“Tell her of Slaver's Bay, tell her of the Dothraki, of the women and children you’ve saved. Tell her the reason why you are doing this, please Khaleesi.” Khaleesi. The longer she is in the North the less she feels like a Khaleesi. She misses the scorching sun, the warm rays kissing her skin. She thinks of walking the desert, battered but not broken. How determined she was, how absolutely unguarded, back before she was any type of true queen.

 

Perhaps Jorah is right, perhaps she needs to let Sansa know, to tell her that the reason she wants the throne, truly wants to sit upon it, is not because of her birthright but because she sees a world in which there is unity. The other part is also clear, to tell Sansa that she loves Jon. She does, she knows that she does, and she never thought that she would love again. Not until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. Those were different days and that was a different Daenerys. 

 

There is a lot left unspoken between Jorah and Daenerys. She looks at him, truly looks at him and sees one of the most selfless men she’s ever known. Her heart is heavy as she looks into his eyes, what they have is almost bittersweet in a way. Daenerys knows that he loves her, she supposes that she has always known and she can’t imagine it is easy to watch the person that you love be with someone else. She is grateful to Jorah’s commitment to her, and understands that it is his love for her that keeps his actions in her best interest. She knows there is underlying tension, that there might always be but besides it all she supposes that Jorah is the closest thing that she has to family.

 

If he is asking her to make Sansa warden of the North, to be a trusted adviser to the queen, that letting a Northerner rule the North might be one of the better things that has happened to all of them.

 

“Sansa is a very smart girl from what Tyrion has told me, he said he admires her greatly and respects her even more than before since she  told him he is no longer the cleverest man alive.”

 

Daenerys almost bites out of laugh. Leave it to Tyrion to be self-deprecating.  _ I can agree with her on that.  _ She feels as though her actions may have been too harsh, that what he did was not a betrayal to her but just a mistake. That he thought his sister would do what was right. She remembers Viserys, how once upon a time she believed the things that he had told her. 

 

“Family can be difficult.” Her mind flashes to gold, to smoke and flames, and the way that Viserys screamed as his skin burn, as gold poured down his skin and into his throat. She thinks that maybe Tyrion has a similar vision for his sister who sits on the throne and calls herself the Mad Queen and the thought brings a smile to her lips. 

 

* * *

Sansa is beautiful, black leather cinched against her form. She walks with purpose, everywhere she goes her back is always straight and her guard never down. That’s what Dany sees more clearly now, that Sana’s clothing is also her armor, that every move all of them make is a move across the board, and this is just another piece. That Sansa is well aware of the game all of them are playing. Dany realizes that she has underestimated her, that this is a woman who lives in a world of men, a world of conquering, greed, slavery, and rape, and that she does not want to be a part of it. 

 

They both know what it is that causes women to be cold, even if they are beautiful. That the word cold is a misconception and that they are both trying to survive in a world that does not want to accept them.  Dany can’t see Sansa as anything but beautiful. That her snow white skin is because the North favors her, that she is a child of winter and a Northerner through and through, That she is the daughter of Ned Stark, the man who raised Jon to be the most truthful and loyal and honest man she knows. Daenerys wonders what good Sansa can do, what peace she would be able to bring to the North. 

 

“I want a just world, a world where there are more Jon Snows and less Cersei Lannisters. I want the people to be able to turn to Iron Throne and see hope. We’re all always just pieces in someone else's game and I want to make my own moves. I want to free the people of the seven kingdoms.” Dany is speaking her truth as she knows it, this part isn’t a game to her. This is what she genuinely believes and she knows that others want the same as her so she will do what she needs to ensure that it happens.

 

Sansa doesn’t reply, but her lips are slightly parted, the only reaction she’s shown to Dany’s words. If Dany didn’t know Sansa before this she would have thought she was made of marble, her porcelain skin perfectly smooth and all of her features razor sharp.

 

“Not what you were expecting to hear?” 

 

“I’m learning to not have expectations.” They both smile at this.

 

“I do not know what will happen with the Night King, I cannot see into the future but I will say to you this. When it is over,” Daenerys takes a pause, an inhale to remind herself of the world around her, “I want to know that you will be here, in the North. That you will be here, and that you will be even more noble than your brother.” Things do not have to be the way that they know them, they don’t have to be the Seven Kingdoms, not if at the end of the day there is a better world to be had because of it. Dany surprises herself but as she says the words she knows that she means them, knows that she wants to see Sansa succeed and thrive in a similar way that she has. 

 

It’s not what Sansa is expecting but when Daenerys takes her hand she feels warmth shoot through her body as fast as flames. 

 

“All I want is for the North to be protected, for us to not have to rise to the call every time it is asked of us because it is always asked of us. Our men have been the ones to guard the wall, to become crows and protect the Seven Kingdoms from a terror that has been lurking since the beginning of this land. What happens after? Will there just be a warden of the North or will you let the North exist as its own? Will you let us be a free city?” Sansa takes her hand out of Daenerys’ letting it drop to her side. 

 

The thought does not scare Daenerys the way that Sansa thinks that it will, for Dany grew up in the free cities, she has seen the horrors of the world and knows that she can overcome them, and that perhaps the North needs a Northern Queen.

 

“Your brother told me how you saved his life during the battle of the bastards, that you knew how your enemy functioned and you went behind everyones back to bring in your own army. He told me that after you killed Ramsey Bolton with his own hounds and walked away as he screamed into the night. You have been a woman that has been underestimated your whole life and I understand that better than anyone. If we survive this, we will talk. I do not want to rule a woman who does not want to be ruled but I want to know that the North is in good hands.”

 

They both stand their ground, their backs perfectly straight and their shoulders squared, just as they have been taught to act. Daenerys lets her shoulders fall a little, letting her guard down and wanting Sansa to see who she truly is. “If we survive this, I want to know that there is another woman out there defying the odds stacked against us.” With that Dany leaves the room, her body posture becoming that more of a queen as she steps out of the room leaving Sansa with her thoughts. 

 

* * *

Jon is sitting in the war room, the map spread out before him. No matter how many times he goes over it, no matter how many outcomes he can think of, he still feels as if they are not prepared.

 

He hears the door open and watches as Tyrion walks back into the room. Jon’s eyes meet his before he draws them back to the elaborate board in front of them. 

 

Tyrion walks up next to Jon and stands beside his chair, looking at the small carved pieces that are made to represent the armies. Tyrion does not know what is going on between his Queen and the bastard son of Eddard Stark but he knows that if they are to win this war that Jon needs to understand and see who Dany really is, that she is the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea who got the Dothraki to cross the black salt that they always feared. That beneath all of that she is a woman who is defying the world that was set out to destroy her.

 

“Do you know why they call her Stormborn? The night that she was born the most violent storm raged against the cliffs, the water and night threatened to take Dragonstone. The world quaked when she came into it, the sky split itself open to welcome her into the world. Her destiny was carved into the earth as the rain pounded, forever changing it. She was always meant to be the Mother of Dragons and so much more. That is why I am her hand, that is why we are here in the North. If Daenerys Stormborn is here it is because she wills it. If the children of the forest created the Night King to stop the world of men then we shall be glad that we are following a Queen.” Tyrion has always had a way with words, if Daenerys was meant to fix the world then Tyrion was meant to help her. 

 

“Then you must have been brought into this world for grand speeches.” Jon doesn’t say it with venom or malice, just a simple truth. He thinks that is all he has ever tried to live his life by, a simple truth but he is realizing more and more that things are never simple and the truth is always harsh.

 

“Maybe I was, and if that is the case then we are all here for the same reason. To unite the Seven Kingdoms. You were stabbed in the heart, dead and gone from this world and you were brought back. Why were you brought back if not to stop the Night King?” 

 

Jon closes his eyes, his hand gripping the arm of the chair as he takes a breath. He tries not to think about it, tries not to imagine destinies and birth rights because if that is the road he goes down then he will have to accept himself as a Targaryen and the true heir to the Iron Throne. 

 

“That is my only purpose then? To stop the Night King?”

 

“They will write songs about you, plays, poems. The both of you.” 

 

“The songs should be about her, all of it.”  _ I don’t want anyone to know anything about me, I don’t deserve it. I have not freed slaves or brought dragons to life. I am here to ensure the world of men survives and after that it is said and done the world will be a better place. _

 

“All I am saying, all I am asking, is that if you love her, truly love her, that you will be there for her.” Tyrion has a glass of wine in his hand though he is not drunk, in fact he is far from it. 

 

“Have I not bent the knee? Have I not sworn myself to her?”

 

Tyrion lets out a sigh, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We all have but have we ever stopped to think that the Mother of Dragons needs more than just bending the knee? She lives in a world where she has fought for everything she has. Fire cannot kill her, she brought magic back into this world. For as strong as she seems, for everything that has happened we owe it to her to be more than just advisers and hands. The Seven Kingdoms are made to believe that all Targaryens are mad, we owe it to her to show them that she is not.”

 

Targaryen. The world relies so much on name and status, so much on blood and birth. If Jon is to accept his fate or his destiny, or whatever word that people want to use, then should he not as well have a claim?

 

Jon turns to Tyrion, to look at him, really look at him. He sees the man he first met, the man of words who never passed judgement on anyone. The thought that he had been tossing back and forth in his mind finally sticks. 

 

“Thank you.” It is all Jon says before leaving the room to go to the crypts.

  
  


* * *

All this time he had a mother and a different father. He was not a Stark the way that he wanted to be, the way that the world thought he needed to be, but a Stark nonetheless. 

 

* * *

Brienne doesn’t want to drink, she wants to be sensible and get a night of rest before the dead reach the gates. It is hard to say no when all she has ever wanted was to be accepted into a role that no one that she was good at. 

 

She ends up sitting down with them and talking nonetheless.

 

For the first time she thinks to herself that the life of the Wildling’s must be very free, she almost chuckles to herself at how they call themselves the free-folk and is just beginning to truly understand what that means. She wants to ask Tormund more, more about what life was like over the wall and how different it truly was. The constraints of society do not stick to their values, that women are no different than men, that they are fighters the same as anyone else. She can feel herself starting to unwind.

 

 

* * *

It takes her by surprise when Jaime says that he can knight her. She doesn’t care much that he was known as the Kingslayer because the man that she knows is a man who is trying to do what is right which is all any of them can ask for. 

 

It’s not the grand ceremony she’s always dreamed of having but she would never tell anyone that. She can’t imagine laying awake at night in bed with someone and telling them of her secrets, how that she has always held onto a hope that someone one day would see her potential and give her the recognition that she deserves. What she doesn’t fully grasp in that moment is that every man in the room is in awe of her, inspired by her actions because they all know that they will never be as honor bound as she is. No matter how many times the lord of light brings back Beric, no matter how much Podrick trains, no matter how much Jaime wants to serve her, she doesn’t understand that she will always be more honorable and true than any of them. 

 

* * *

Jon is looking at the statue of his mother, trying to see if he can imagine her features from the stone. He squints his eyes and wonders if hers were dark the way his are, if her hair was ebony and had curls. He knows nothing about her and may never know anything. He can hear someone walking in the crypts, their footsteps light and he instantly knows that it is Dany. He feels his chest become heavy as she approaches. Her hand finds his first, then her chin rests against his shoulder. He closes his eyes and lets himself feel her against him, lets himself feel the warmth radiating off of her body even in the cold of the crypts. He knows what he has to do, he needs to tell her because if he doesn’t he is afraid the secret will consume him and that is something that he fears more than the endless night.

 

* * *

It almost wrecks Jon, when he tells her of who he is. It feels like ice breaking, shattering against the ground in a thousand pieces. She is unguarded as her hand falls from his.

 

“I am not telling you this to hurt you Dany, I’m telling you this because it's the right thing to do. Would you rather I never tell you? Would you rather we live in a world built on lies? That is what the people who came before us did and I will not live my life that way. My father, my true father, Eddard Stark, would not want me to live my life without telling you who I really am. That's what I am saying to you now, that I may be Aegon Targaryen but if we survive this, if we survive the Night King and the endless night, that I do not want to be Aegon, I want to continue as I always have, as Jon Snow.”

 

She can feel her lips going numb, her fingers tingling. Her first thought at all of this is betrayal and she tries to calm herself as the words start escaping her mouth. “How can you go on, how can you live your life knowing that the throne is there for your taking? That you would-”

 

Jon cuts her off, “that I would what? Have I not proven myself to you? I am telling you this because I love you, because I cannot love you knowing that I am not telling you the truth. I do not want the throne, not now or ever. Even if we survive this, I do not know what will happen to us but I am trying to tell you that we are more than just our birthrights or whatever claim you want to have. I bent the knee because I want the same as you, a better world to live in, and you’re our best hope.” 

 

Her lips are parted as she looks at him, searching his abysmal eyes for any amount of truth. Jon has never done anything to lead her to believe that he wouldn’t be telling her the truth, that he wouldn’t be risking his life to tell her who he really is. She closes her mouth then opens it to speak once more. 

 

“I don’t want to live in a world where you are a bastard, if what you are saying is true then perhaps you should become who you were always meant to be. Why not have the last name Stark? Do you not also have Stark blood running through your veins?” Her hand reaches for his again, this time more firmly than before and his fingers entwine in hers and he knows he is making the right choice regardless of the outcome. 

 

“I cannot ask that of my family, to take what is theirs and claim it as my own.” His fingers squeeze hers tightly before letting her hand go again. Jon Snow is a man who has burdens, that have always been carried on his shoulders like a punishment for being a bastard son with a claim to nothing.

 

“I believe your family would be more than happy to know that you share the same last name as them. You are kind, noble, and just, everything a Stark is supposed to be. If we survive this, will you take the last name Stark? Will you be Jon Stark and not Aegon Targaryen?”

 

He looks at her, truly looks at her wide eyes filled with conviction, hers are still searching his, hoping with more hope than shes ever been able to muster and when he speaks she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” It feels good to say it, to let what has been weighing him down his whole life to finally be out in the open. 

 

She wants to run into this arms, to press her lips against his and thank him for who he is. To go to the tomb of Eddard Stark and thank him for raising a selfless son. She wonders if he too can feel the crackling between them. 

 

She wants to ask again,  _ please tell me that this is true? That you are a man of your word. _ She doesn’t need to though, he can already sense her still lingering questions. 

 

“Why can’t we be who we decide to be?” That is what Tyrion was telling Jon without Tyrion knowing the truth of who he is. That they are here because they have made the decision to be. Jon doesn’t want to be the King in the North or any king at all.

 

She realizes that's what she needs, the reassurance that they are their own people and not what others decide for them, that the world was shaped with magic but that the world of man has grown into a force to be reckoned with and that they are both teetering in different worlds but regardless of it all that they will decide who they are. 

 

She cannot stand it any long, she runs to him, and his arms are already out to catch her. She falls into him the way she would fall into bed when she was younger, with urgency and recklessness. Jon is steady, becoming a constant in her life. His hands are sure the way she has always known them to be. They melt into each other, melt like dragon fire is burning their skin. When their lips meet it is with the same intensity as their first kiss and as their hands roam each others bodies they realize that this is the world they are creating for themselves. 

  
  


* * *

Brienne takes her title of Knight with her onto the battlefield, she wears it the same way as her suit of armor, as if none of it is weighing her down. 

 

* * *

  
  


Daenerys watches the lights of the Dothraki go out, watches as each flame quickly extinguishes. She can feel anger burning inside of her, dangerous and swift. This is not how things are supposed to go, this is not her story. 

 

Jon makes a motion to grab her, to hold her in her place but Daenerys Stormborn is tired of having men ask things of her, tired of expectations. She looks at Jon, at his raven black hair and wonders how he can be a Targaryen. She thinks to herself not for the first time, that perhaps she isn’t one either.

 

“The Night King is already here.” She wants to say more, she wants to shout and point at her army dying, she wants to yell about the black salt sea and how the world is meant to be more than this. She hates that just moments before she was in Jon’s arms, that for a brief moment in the world the harsh realities around them did not exist. Now she stands watching her army fall to the Night King and she feels the flames burning inside of her.

 

They don’t have time for any more words or grand battle plans, she is going to end this and she is going to do it now, before they make it to the walls of the Winterfell. 

  
  


* * *

It’s not enough, dragon fire and dragon glass cannot stop the dead, cannot stop the wall of bodies closing around them.

 

* * *

Brienne fights with her back pressed against Jaime’s, the noise of the dead is so loud she can no longer hear the clash of their swords. As the dead envelope them she reaches for Jaime’s hand and hears Tormund shout her name as everything goes dark.

 

The world will soon be gone and none of them remembered.

 

* * *

“Dracarys.”

 

As she says it, she feels the satisfaction of knowing that this will all be over soon, that as soon as the Night King falls they will be free of this madness and death. She says it the same way she has many times before, her voice smooth and firm.

 

The flames do not affect him, do not leave a mark in any way, just the scorched earth around him. The Night King smiles at her, more so taunting than menacing. 

 

She is scared, more scared than when she was sold to the Dothraki, more terrified than when she lost her son, more than when she walked into a funeral pyre, or when she went to rescue her children from men who wanted to see the world fall.

 

* * *

Drogon flies away, leaving her on her own. She realizes that she has never had to wield a sword or fight in any type of battle, that she was never trained for any of this. The sounds of the dead fill her ears, screams and bone crunching, metal against metal as the world falls around her. 

 

Jorah fights the walkers off, fights as long as he can but eventually he succumbs to the overwhelming amount of the dead piling on top of them. He looks at this Queen one last time, her eyes frightened as the dead take them.  The last thing he sees is Daenerys looking up to the sky for her dragons.

 

* * *

The hands of the dead are cold as they claw at her skin and tear flesh from her body. Dozens of white walkers are on top of her, she screams in agony as Drogon flies above her. She has endured pain, she has eaten the heart of a stallion but she cannot tolerate the pain of being ripped a part.

 

“Dracarys.” It’s the last thing she says before they’re all engulfed in flames.

  
  


* * *

Jon sees Arya making her way into the godswood, her blade arcing and slashing as she kills white walker after white walker. For a brief moment, as he hides behind the rubble from the dragonfire, he thinks that Arya has become who she always wanted to be. Their eyes meet as Arya stabs a white walker in the chest with a dagger made of dragon glass, she sees the dragon behind Jon and knows that she will not make it out of this. It is this that gives Jon the courage to come out from behind the rubble, to distract the dead Viserion and give Arya a fighting chance to kill the Night King.

 

He has died once before and he thinks that he can do it again if it means that some of them will make it out of this alive. He doesn’t have a plan as he exposes himself to the dragon, so instead he yells, yells loud hoping that it is enough for Viserion to look at him and take the dragons eyes off of his sister.

 

The blue flames lick at Jon’s skin, they burn in a way that Jon didn’t know could hurt, they’re cold and hot all at once. When Viserion is done with his roar, Jon looks down at his skin to notice that is is unchanged.

 

Before he can properly react, before he can pull a blade to try to fight off an undead dragon a group of white walkers take him from behind knocking him to the ground. His ribs break under the weight of the dead, the pain worse than fighting his way out of the battle of the bastards.

 

* * *

Arya barely makes it into the godswood before the Night King’s generals take her. She watches as the Night King makes it to Bran, as Theon dies, his blood spilling onto the white snow. Everything that Arya believes to be true in this world is shattering before her, she wonders how the God of Death can claim so many lives,  _ there will be nothing left and the god of death will have nothing. He will have every face on his wall and the collection will stop, the world will stop and cease to exist and then what will the gods have? _

  
  
  



End file.
